


Saturday July 4th

by catholicschoolgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Drug Dealing, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Time Skips, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think we’ll still be doing this next year?” Louis asked suddenly. “Like — after graduation and all?”<br/>“Course we will,” Zayn said. In the moment, it was unfathomable that they wouldn’t. Hell, this was just what they did. They worked stupid jobs. They spent their spare cash on weed and burgers. They put miles on Harry’s car the night before the Fourth of July. They didn’t give voice to the surging, knotty ties that drew the three of them together. “Best friends forever, right?”<br/>“Forever and ever,” Harry swore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday July 4th

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all of the usual suspects - Emily, Fee, Rue, and Grace for reading over drafts, asking great questions, cleaning up grammar, and generally being encouraging and inspiring human beings. And thanks, as well, to the mods of the Summer Big Bang for organizing this opportunity and being so helpful when I had questions.
> 
> A quick word that this is primarily a Zarry fic. The Zouis is wholly one-sided, and the Larry is firmly past tense. So if you are reading strictly for those pairings, you might be a little disappointed.

Zayn didn’t ask any questions when Harry pulled his Range Rover off the highway and onto a bumpy, desolate side road. Louis had hooked his phone into the car stereo and he was playing OneRepublic, Ryan Tedder crooning about Kings of Hearts as they followed the winding path through to a gap in the trees overlooking the city. Harry brought the car to a stop, and they all climbed out of the vehicle, relishing in the warm breeze that slid over their skin and ruffled their hair. They could see the entire firework display where it seared over the valley — snatches of reds and blues and greens exploding into the night before cascading over the fawning town below.

Zayn closed his eyes and let himself pretend as though he were still seventeen and on top of the world. Standing next to his two boys, his Louis and his Harry. Young, stupid, and unblemished, full of nothing but foolish dreams and sinful potential, bolstered by a soundtrack of fireworks and Top 40. 

If it were a different story, Zayn would pull both boys close, whisper into hairlines as liquor warm breath fanned across his cheeks. If it were a different story, Zayn could live with his eyes wide open, wouldn’t have to content himself with flashbacks and remembrances. 

But as quickly as the urge to lose himself in memories appeared, it was gone. Louis and Harry were wordlessly making their way back to the car, the tense and uneasy truce between the two of them making a reappearance. And Zayn was left standing overlooking the firework display, a chill rattling through his body as he realized he was alone.

 

The story began on a gorgeous, sunny Friday. Zayn only had a few plans for the night: finish up his shift at Target, catch a ride with Harry to Niall’s house party, get fucked up, and hopefully end the night getting fucked, bent over some countertop or sat on top of his boyfriend’s cock while Drake poured from underneath a locked door. Quintessential American “back home for the summer” shit, the type of night that could be replicated at lake houses, country getaways, at campfires and in the city.

By midnight, Zayn had already accomplished half of the tasks on his mental to-do list. He finished up his shift at eight, took the train to Harry’s place in the city, and together they loaded up for a drive into the suburbs. They pulled up to Niall’s spot a little after ten and Harry helped Niall finish setting up while Zayn packed his bowl and greeted the slow stream of visitors. Once the music got properly playing, Harry grinned at Zayn and snuck him upstairs to Niall’s brother’s old room, locking the door before pulling Zayn in and pushing his jeans to his ankles.

It was a cloudless, starry Friday night, just like Zayn knew it would be. Zayn was high as fuck, felt like something out of a rock song with the sunshine running through his veins. The world had never seemed as beautiful as it did now, with Zayn’s fingers threaded through his boyfriend’s chestnut curls and Harry’s mouth on his dick. Sometimes Zayn’s life seemed so humdrum — going to school during the day, working at night — so boring and _typical_ , like scenes stolen from an uninspired teen drama. But when he was with Harry, Zayn could pretend like they were both extraordinary. Like they were really building something beautiful and meaningful together, like the pages in their book were hurtling toward a rousing finale.

Zayn hardly even heard the banging on the door. Harry was the one who did, pulling off of Zayn with an extraordinarily wet gag, a stream of saliva still connecting his lips to Zayn’s cock. His sea-foam eyes were wide and disbelieving, and that was enough to give Zayn pause. Enough for Zayn to let his ears sift through the bass rumbling through the house to figure out what made Harry look like he’d seen a ghost.

If it had been anyone else banging on the door, Zayn would have just guided Harry back to his cock with murmured niceties and an encouraging smirk. If it had been anyone else banging on the door, Zayn wouldn’t have answered or given half a fuck. But as it were, Louis Tomlinson’s voice was the one interrupting Harry’s stellar blow job, and Zayn had never been one to deny Louis anything.

 

If you were to ask, and Zayn were in a good enough mood to answer truthfully, Zayn would grudgingly admit that he and Louis Tomlinson had once been very good friends. 

The best friends, even. Partners in crime.

They hadn’t talked in a while, though. Not in something like five months. Zayn wasn’t even there when Louis finally got out of prison a few weeks ago.

But they used to be very good friends. The best, even. The type of friends who planned major life events together. High school extracurriculars and then college admissions, moving in together, what they expected married life with kids to be like. Zayn had expected to spend every waking moment with Louis by his side. Like J.D. and Turk or something. It’s how they spent childhood — how could adulthood be any different?

Sometimes, when Zayn was high or drunk or otherwise feeling maudlin and introspective, he would think about how he’d simply supplanted Louis with Harry in all of these dreams and plans. And maybe that was okay. Maybe that’s just what happened when you grew older. People just drifted in and out of your narrative. 

Maybe Louis exiting stage left and Harry emerging under a bright spotlight was all right.

Although if you were to ask Louis, Zayn was sure he would disagree.

 

Zayn buttoned his pants back up over his erection and Harry slid into the bathroom to swipe toothpaste onto his pointer finger and gargle his mouth. But despite their attempts at cleaning up and making themselves look decent, it was pretty obvious what they had been up to. The whole room reeked of weed and sex, and they hadn’t put any effort into keeping the noise down. 

Louis didn’t know about them — about _ZaynandHarry_ — but he would now.

Zayn opened the door where Louis had been banging on it, and Louis paused, one hand still raised up in a fist, his bright blue eyes cagey and distrustful. It would’ve been funny if it were a scene Zayn had stumbled across on his way to the bathroom or something, but as it were, Zayn just felt his guts twist and his palms go sweaty.

A beat went by and then another, but eventually Louis seemed to remember why he was pounding on the door and he forced his way into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him. He immediately skidded under the bed, rearranging the ends of the duvet to hide his body. Zayn frowned at Louis, his brows knitted together in confusion, but another series of knocks rattled the door and Zayn sighed, throwing his hands up and answering it for the second time.

Max, Tom, and a few other guys Zayn had grown up with were standing on the other side of the door, looking down the hallway nervously. Zayn certainly wouldn’t call them friends, but Niall was a nice person so Zayn wasn’t surprised they had gotten an invite. They were known around town for their drug connections, mostly ecstasy, heroin, and molly, and Zayn felt like he’d heard that Tom had very recently gotten out of prison, too. 

Didn’t really explain why they were banging down doors at a house party, though.

“Zayn, man,” Max said, his lips twisting in a smile that lacked any degree of conviction. “Didn’t think you would be here.”

Zayn crossed his arms over his chest and lounged against the doorframe. “Yeah, I actually helped Niall set up for the party.”

“That’s good man, that’s good,” Max replied, nodding his head like he was filing the information away. Zayn had to fight down the urge to bare his teeth and puff himself up. He’d always felt really uneasy around this group. “It’s real good to see you, actually. You and Styles still a thing?”

Zayn nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been together for a minute now. Eighteen months.”

“He here too?”

“Yeah, in the bathroom.”

“Nice, tell him I say whassup,” Max answered. “Now look, man. We saw Tomlinson run up here a few minutes ago. You see him at all? He in there with you?”

It took everything in Zayn not to shiver or twitch. Fucking Louis. Fucking Louis and his bad fucking habit of getting involved in stupid fucking shit. From what Niall had said while they were putting out chips and bottles of vodka, Louis had only been out of prison for a few weeks. Had he already gotten back into the dope game? And given reason for these assholes to be after him?

“Nah, he’s not here, man,” Zayn finally answered.

“You sure, bro?” Tom interjected. “Cuz we could’ve swore — ”

“Did you forget who Haz is to Tomlinson, man? I was in here fucking his ex before you all showed up and interrupted,” Zayn said. “I don’t think that Louis Tomlinson would ever choose to hide out where I am.”

The guys all chortled under their breath and Zayn forced down an eye-roll. “Zayn’s good, man,” Max said, putting a hand out. Zayn took it, pulling Max in and patting his back. “If you see Tomlinson, just let us know.”

“Sure, bro,” Zayn answered. He waited a few moments until the boys continued down the hallway, and then he slammed the door shut, resting his head against it.

When Zayn turned around, Harry was standing against the bathroom door, both hands braced on the frame. Louis had crawled from underneath the bed and was sitting against it, his hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. Both boys were watching Zayn with carefully blank expressions. 

Zayn closed his eyes and thudded his head against the door again.

 

Zayn had to wait until Max and co. left the party before he, Louis, and Harry were able to make their way to where Harry had parked around the corner from Niall’s house. Niall had come up to Greg’s bedroom with an armful of Coronas and an apologetic smile, saying that Max and his gang had been harassing everyone at the party. From what Zayn gathered, Louis owed Max a few hundred, and Max was planning to either collect or beat Louis’ ass as a warning. So Niall asked Harry if they could give Louis a ride to Lottie’s house in the Valley, just until Max cooled off. It was a three hour drive one-way, give or take. Niall said he would do it himself, but his brakes were shit and he didn’t want to put more mileage on the car than he needed to. Harry agreed, through gritted teeth and with a long sigh, but not before sending a curious, almost loaded glance Louis’ way.

The first few minutes of the car ride were almost deathly quiet, even with the radio playing one of the presets. Harry's Range Rover didn't have that new car smell anymore, but Harry still hadn't gotten around to programming all of his favorite stations yet. He always plugged in his phone or popped in a CD, and typically when Harry was driving them both to class, Zayn would play around with the radio buttons, cursing under his breath until he found something decent. Harry always watched him with a grin, insistent that Zayn should just set the buttons to whatever he most wanted to listen to, but Zayn felt weird about the whole thing. It sounded dumb, especially considering how long they'd been together now and their upcoming trip to Vegas, but Zayn was still half-expecting for Harry to realize that he could do better. Programming presets into each other's car made things seem really fucking serious — more so than they already were, really.

Either way, Zayn wasn't playing with the presets now. 

Harry gripped the steering wheel as tight as he could, his eyes glued to the road. Zayn was watching Harry out of the corner of his own eye, and he caught Harry's occasional glances to the backseat. Zayn could see Louis' profile from the sideview and he looked same as he always did. Hood up, dirty Vans kicked up against Harry's console. There used to be a time when Harry and Louis looked at each other almost like they could communicate telepathically. The way they were regarding each other now, though – they looked at each other like strangers. Maybe even something worse. Something cooler, each glance laced almost with malice.

On one level, Zayn was glad, selfishly pleased that there was nothing romantic there between Louis and Harry anymore. But at the same time, he also felt like he was floundering. Like everything he had known was slowly drowning him, dragging him underneath currents he didn’t dare hope to overcome.

“So, Zayn,” Louis finally started, his voice loud over the radio. “You and my ex-boyfriend, huh?”

Harry swore under his breath, his knuckles whitening against the smooth leather of the steering wheel. He pressed down a little harder on the gas, too – they were doing about twenty over the speed limit. 

Zayn drummed his fingers against the dashboard before reaching over to the cupholder in the middle of the console, taking the Corona he had placed there and cracking it open with his teeth. Zayn spit the cap into his palm and tipped the bottle against his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing as he drank. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, sitting the bottle back in the holder.

It was probably just the liquid courage, but Zayn felt surer, less nervous and anxious, when he reached over and finally began playing with the radio stations. It took a little bit of fiddling, but finally he found the local rap station, turning Tupac up loud enough to block the presence of Louis in the backseat out of their ears and their minds.

It was going to be a long night. 

 

Zayn and Louis first met when they were in the third grade. Louis was new in town and he’d plopped himself down right next to Zayn on the Reading Circle Ms. Cole had in her classroom. Zayn didn’t talk to people much, was always getting in trouble for some reason or another. They’d even put him in special classes for a bit because he was so quiet, which led some kids to tease him for being stupid, and even more fistfights in front of the jungle gym. Zayn had never heard the whispers himself, but he knew his classmates had learned to mostly ignore him. So he was surprised that Louis crowded in close with a battered copy of _Harry Potter_ in hand, smelling like outside and fruity shampoo.

“Is that Spiderman?” Louis had asked, nodding his head at the comic clutched between Zayn’s fingers. Zayn nodded, eyes sharp and wary, particularly for a nine-year-old. “That’s awesome. I love Spiderman — I love all the comics, really. I’m Louis, by the way.”

Zayn nodded again. “I know.” Ms. Cole had made Louis stand up in front of the class and tell his name, his age, and where he’d moved from. Zayn had noted each detail before letting his eyes slide over his outfit. Even at nine years old, Zayn recognized that Louis was poor, just like him. They both wore clothes that were slightly too long at the sleeves, with Payless shoes and pants with too many holes to be fashionable. Zayn hadn’t catalogued the information because he thought it would make them friends. Zayn just wanted to be prepared in case he needed to fight, in case their inevitable blow-up was preceded by insults instead of just leaping straight to bruised knuckles and bloody noses.  

“You’re supposed to tell me what your name is,” Louis remarked. He kind of had a know-it-all air, but when Zayn poked through his feelings, he found he didn’t mind too much. “Although I already know it, too. You’re Zayn Malik and you’ve fought fifth graders and won.”

Zayn frowned. “Who told you that?”

Louis smiled, a quick, wicked thing that made Zayn’s stomach feel like he’d just unintentionally hopped onto a roller coaster. “Can’t tell ya. It’s a secret and you have to earn those.”

Zayn pursed his lips, looking at Louis sideways. He didn’t know what this kid was playing at, but Zayn felt like he could take him if he needed to. They were similar builds, and even if Louis fought dirty, like Zayn felt he probably did, Zayn was taking boxing and he was the best in his class. And that — knowing who he could blindside and who he couldn’t — was all Zayn really wanted out of a friend at the time.

 

Harry had only planned on driving out to the burbs and back for the night, so they didn’t get too far before they pulled over at a 7-Eleven for snacks and Red Bull. Harry left his keys in the ignition, the radio flitting between Fetty Wap and Fall Out Boy. Louis had his head lolled against the headrest, eyes closed almost like he was sleeping.

Louis had always been this big ball of energy, but time behind bars had changed him. He still seemed charged, but the energy seemed more focused now. Less lashing force, and more like he was just biding his time.

“You never answered me about you and Harry, you know.” 

Zayn grunted noncommittally to the non-question, focused on swilling around the last bit of his Corona before tossing it back. The radio had moved on again, and Drake was rapping about Kennedy Road. Zayn wished he could concentrate more on that, not on all of the sketchy things he’d done over the past year and a half.

Zayn and Harry had been together for almost 18 months, which was about as much time as Louis had served for his sales charge. Louis had actually been sentenced for three years, and Zayn remembered how defiant Louis had been at the hearing, sneering at the judge, the bailiff, fucking everybody, really. But luckily enough, severe overcrowding and moderately decent behavior had got him out early. Zayn felt like Niall had once mentioned something about Louis helping to organize baseball games between inmates.

The car was amusingly quiet for another protracted moment. Zayn had never really associated Louis with silence. Sure, they had their moments of quietude, seconds where they were too busy catching their breath after sprinting through backyards to say much, but this was different. This was awkward. It was still enough that Zayn could hear the artificial trill of the 7-Eleven's bell as people made their way in and out. Zayn looked up, missing Harry acutely once he realized that the patron leaving the store was a beefy man with a six-pack of Budweiser and not his lanky, smiley boyfriend.

Zayn glanced at the rearview, drank in the sight Louis made sitting in the middle of Harry's Range Rover. A bad boy with oily hair and worn sweats juxtaposed against the soft, expensive mahogany leather. The imagery used to be familiar. Things used to be like this all the time almost 24 months ago. Zayn, Louis, and Harry driving around all summer long. People used to call them the Three Musketeers. Except Zayn was the one on the outs then, the third wheel, the one spinning out of orbit. Zayn had assumed Louis and Harry would end up together forever, and Zayn would have to amuse himself with the leftover scraps Louis could dole out. 

It was absurd how much things had changed.

Louis licked over his lips and met Zayn's eyes in the rearview. Zayn looked away, jumped like he'd been burned, and turned to watch the 7-Eleven entrance again. Louis chuckled a little under his breath, but Zayn would've bet good money the smile was hollow.

Back to silence. But thankfully, Louis didn't make Zayn wait much longer. When Louis spoke again, something like disbelief colored his tone. “You didn't even _like_ Harry the first time you met him, Zee.”

Zayn opened his mouth, poised to retort, but he couldn’t. 

Zayn hadn’t. Not really.

 

They’d only been in high school at the time. Louis and Zayn were both juniors, giddy and already destined to rule the school. Louis was a star athlete, very popular, the undisputed class clown. And Zayn had grand ambitions of being Student Body President and their class Valedictorian. It’d always been their dream when they were eleven and twelve watching reruns of _Boy Meets World_ that one day they would conquer high school at both ends, the two best friends who somehow managed to make the four hardest years of their lives work out.

Harry Styles had transferred in as a sophomore. To hear him tell it then, he’d gotten sick of the posh, private school he’d been enrolled at a few towns over, and had deigned to mingle with the common public school folk. Later, Zayn would find out the real story — that Harry had gotten a little too into the party lifestyle, and his parents pulled him out before he entirely lost his way. But Zayn wouldn’t hear that truth for something like five years, not until a whiskey-tinged night where he’d gotten a little too lost in his best friend’s ex-boyfriend’s eyes.

The first time Zayn and Harry properly met was during one of Louis’ soccer practices. Zayn had been sitting on the bleachers, fully engrossed in his APUSH reading, when Louis came bounding over during a water break, one of his teammates in tow.

“Zee,” Louis called, running up and kicking at the sole of Zayn’s shoe with his own cleats. “Want you to meet someone, yeah?”

Zayn had looked up, his eyes locking onto Louis’ companion. The boy was average height, almost stocky, if Zayn had to categorize his body type, with unruly brown hair and wide, eager green eyes. Zayn hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but he wasn’t Zayn’s type. Not at all. Because Zayn liked his brunets thinner and shorter, with strong calves, bright blue eyes, and a devilish smirk.

“This is Harry, Harry Styles. The one I’d been telling you about, yeah? From that private school.”

Zayn didn’t remember hearing anything about this kid, but Louis talked a lot, knew a lot of people. Maybe Louis had said something about Harry Styles, the boy on his soccer team from that private school. Maybe he didn’t. It didn’t really matter. So Zayn grunted, looked down at his homework. He still had something like twenty pages left to read, and then he wanted to outline an essay for English. Zayn always got his best work done during Louis’ practices. “Charmed, yeah.”

Zayn could feel rather than see Louis’ eye roll. “Don’t mind him, Haz. He’s not much of a talker. Never has been, not to strangers.”

“Vote for me in the spring, though,” Zayn said, glancing up at the boy and turning on what Louis always called his megawatt smile. The boy seemed disoriented by it, grinning hesitantly before giving Zayn a quick once-over that made Zayn feel strangely hot inside. “I’m running for Student Body President when the elections roll around.”

“Face like yours, you’re bound to win,” Harry tried hesitantly. Louis frowned and Zayn had no clue why — not when Lou had been saying similar things for as long as Zayn could remember —but Coach Higgins was calling the team in before Louis managed to get any words out.

“It was nice meeting you, Zayn,” Harry said. His lips were very pink when he smiled. Zayn reckoned he was pretty enough, but he was too young for Zayn to even give a second glance to. Too young, too smiley, too different from the person Zayn thought he wanted.

Zayn gave a salute and watched the two boys run off to join the huddle. Zayn let his gaze linger, tracking the ripples of the boys’ backs and their quick, almost secretive smiles, before returning to his studies as though nobody had interrupted him.

 

Zayn reached over the console, fiddling with Harry’s keys where they were still in the ignition. He turned the car on so he could roll his window down all the way, same with the one to Louis’ left. The car felt stuffy, the air heavy with more than just dry California heat.

“Never figured that Harry was your type,” Louis remarked.

Zayn grunted and put the car back in idling, his eyes still glued to the inside of the 7-Eleven. Zayn thought he could make Harry out standing near the drinks. He was probably agonizing over the options, annoyed at the lack of coconut water or whatever his healthy drink choice of the month was.

“Don’t have a type.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis muttered. “You don’t care what they look like s’long as they’re bad. I know, Zee. Harry’s just like — ”

“Like what?”

The artificial trill went off again and Zayn and Louis turned toward the noise, both boys seemingly disappointed when a gaggle of teens spilled out of the store. Zayn bit down the urge to sigh. When Zayn let his eyes wander to consider Louis again, he was smirking, and not kindly.

“Just didn’t know you liked cock.”

Zayn blinked. Had Louis honestly missed Zayn’s planetary sized crush on him in high school? Had Louis thought every flirtatious remark was just play-acting? Was Louis really that fucking daft and oblivious? “You never asked.”

“Should I have? Was it wrong of me to assume that my friend who was fucking a different broad every week was straight?”

Zayn bristled. That’d always been one of the rumors that plagued him when he was younger. Everyone always whispered about it, that he’d got around and was easy for it. It was annoying, especially because he’d always been in long-term relationships. Perrie throughout high school and the first chunk of college, and now Harry. If anything, Zayn was a serial monogamist who just looked a little hard at people sometimes. “Yeah, maybe.”

Louis snorted, but his eyes were soft and considering. Zayn fidgeted in his seat, annoyed that he had no more alcohol left to drink. Harry was unlikely to bring more Coronas out. He didn’t like it when Zayn drank too much, complained that he got too affectionate and worked Harry up too much for someone who got limp dick every single time.

“You should’ve told me,” Louis asserted after several long moments. “I never would’ve gone after half the people I did if I’d known you were gay.”

“Bisexual.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“No, not ‘whatever’,” Zayn replied. It was easier to concentrate on this than the preceding bit of the sentence. Zayn didn’t know what to do with that half. “C’mon, Lou. Don’t be fucking dismissive. You fuck girls, too.”

Louis sneered. “I fucked a girl. One girl.”

“Yeah, and you fucked her so good you made a kid with her. How is the baby mama doing these days?”

Louis was outright snarling when he spat, “Don’t do this, Zayn.”

“You started it,” Zayn retorted, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when Harry finally traipsed out of 7-Eleven, a plastic bag full of snacks in hand. Harry pulled open the door and slid inside the car, handing the bag over to Zayn. There were a few different brands of chips, bottles of water, Gatorade, and a pack of gummy bears. Zayn pulled out the gummy bears and two Gatorades and passed everything else back to Louis, who mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a “Thank you.”

“Want to drive over to the Shell and get gas, too,” Harry said as he turned the car on and began reversing slowly of the parking space. “I figure we could make it to Fresno in two and a half hours if we power straight through the trip.”

“Sounds great,” Louis replied listlessly. Harry glared at him in the rearview before cranking up the radio volume and peeling out of the parking lot.

 

Louis and Harry first started properly dating toward the end of Louis’ junior year of high school. It was an obnoxiously big deal. They weren’t the first out couple at their school, obviously, but they were both fairly popular and good-looking guys, the type of students that just stood out. People fucking _adored_ them. Teachers cooed over them in class, parents went out of their way to applaud them for their bravery, and classmates nominated them for every fucking thing they could. 

Zayn couldn’t stand it.

He recognized that a fair amount of his angst was due to jealousy, but as time went on, Zayn had a harder time discerning who he was more jealous of. Zayn harbored a colossal crush on Louis during most of his teen years, but puberty hit Harry like a fucking eighteen wheeler the summer between Zayn’s junior and senior year. Nearly overnight Harry turned from a stocky, awkward youth to a tall, swaggering man with dimples in his cheeks and a white Mercedes from his parents. Harry was charming and commanded attention. Zayn loathed himself for noticing how attractive his best friend’s boyfriend had become.

And it was hard, too, because the three of them were _always_ together. Zayn was constantly third wheeling or double dating. Zayn was sure part of it was to maintain their Kings of the School rep — Louis as the soccer captain, Zayn as a student body president who actually got shit done, and Harry as future prom king material — but it also drove Zayn batshit. Nobody needed to spend that much time with an obnoxiously in love couple. Zayn hated sitting next to them in the movies while they made out, hated carpooling with them to house parties and then having to try and separate them where they were practically fucking in the backseat of Niall’s Subaru Outback. The constant contact, evenings and weekends spent in each other’s pockets made resentment sear through his entrails and thrum heavy in his veins.

Unfortunately, Harry was also in a fair number of Zayn’s classes senior year. Art in the morning, which Harry was fucking terrible at, Calculus right before lunch, and then they had a free period together, too. It meant that Zayn saw Harry during the school day more often than he saw Louis, and it also meant that Zayn had the (dis)pleasure of getting to know Harry more than he already had. Zayn learned how Harry could make a pun about anything, how he always had extra pencils for Zayn to borrow, and how he could actually do a really amazing impression of their Calculus teacher, Mr. Cowell. Zayn learned how Harry surrounded himself with noise but still appreciated smaller, stiller moments, opportunities to unwind and let his mind wander. Zayn learned that Harry sometimes looked at him like he was trying to decipher his very being, gaze sharp and searching, shiver-inducing. 

And Zayn learned how Harry went soft and pliant when he was high. 

One foggy and dreary day they decided to sneak out of study hall. It was around the time Louis began selling weed to kids around school, but Zayn never had to pay. And so Zayn had a cigarette box full of joints and Harry had smiled at him over their open math books, the twist of his lips laced with mischief and promise.

“I’m sick of studying,” Harry said. “We should get out of here.”

They couldn’t go far because Harry always gave Louis a ride home after class and Zayn had promised Perrie he would find her before cheerleading practice. But they were able to grab their backpacks and head to the bleachers behind the back of the school. A few kids were already out there, a lot of the stoner types that had voted for Zayn last spring and thought he was cool even though he wasn’t. Zayn nodded his greeting before stashing his bag on the grass, plopping down beside it. Harry looked around himself a little anxiously before sitting down, too, frowning when his jeans got damp.

It took forever for Zayn to get his lighter to work, but when he did, he inhaled long and deep. He held the blunt out for Harry to take, but Harry shook his head, crawled closer to Zayn, almost to the point where he was in Zayn’s lap. His thighs were warm, thick and entirely corded with muscle. Zayn idly wondered what they would look like positioned on either side of his head, what Harry would look like with Zayn’s mouth on him. It was a thought that crossed his mind more than he would ever admit, but Zayn figured Harry would probably be really loud and really pink in bed, flushed like the time he came to Art with a fever.

“Too lazy,” Harry said. “Can we just shotgun instead?”

“Shotgun?” Zayn parroted. A punch of heat leapt from his guts and made his brain go gooey. “Like — seriously? Louis would fucking kill me.”

Harry pouted. “What? Why?”

Zayn opened up his mouth and made a weird sort of garbled sound. Decided it would be better to just take another hit. “Like — I dunno. Would you like it if he and I shotgunned?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You two already do shit like that all the time, though.”

Zayn blinked. That was true, but it wasn’t the same. Louis always ended up laughing in Zayn’s face for one, and, two, Harry was usually there watching them really fucking intensely. Either like he was pissed or like he was trying to record the moment — Zayn wasn’t sure which and he wasn’t going to pry. And three, Zayn actually hated shotgunning Louis because every time they did it, he felt a pang in his chest, wishing that he could bridge the gap of space between them and make things real, Harry be damned. 

“Still, though.”

“If you don’t wanna do it, you can just say so,” Harry humphed. He had a habit of doing that, going from wheedling to petulant in the blink of an eye. Zayn didn’t know how Louis put up with him sometimes. “God, just hand it over.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Zayn mumbled. 

This was a bad idea. This was an awful, terrible idea, and Louis _would_ be upset if he ever found out. But Zayn took a long hit, held the smoke in his lungs, and curled his fingers around the back of Harry’s neck, rubbing the blunt edges of his fingernails over the curly hairs there, the meat of his earlobe. 

He wasn’t thinking about his girlfriend or about his best friend. For a few blissful moments, Zayn just let himself take advantage of a situation he’d been presented with and leaned in close.

Harry’s eyes were a multitude of greens and blues and golds, and Zayn wondered why he’d never taken the time to notice before. Harry’s eyelids were a dusky pale pink, too, made Zayn think of a butterfly when they fluttered shut. And his lips were plump, looked like they would be soft and inviting if Zayn closed the distance between them, sealed the shaky moment with a press of skin.

Harry dug his fingernails into Zayn’s arm and whimpered after he’d finished inhaling the hit. And that should’ve meant something. Zayn should’ve known that things were never going to be the same after this, not with the way Harry licked over his lips or looked at Zayn expectantly, his eyes dark and beguiling. _Friends don’t look at friends like this_ , Zayn’s brain traitorously murmured. _He_ wants _you. You should just go for it. Harry can keep a secret. Louis would never know._

But one of the stoners called Zayn’s name. Zayn turned around with a smile, handing the blunt over to Harry and standing quickly, guiltily. The stoner asked about homework and student council and the new garden they were putting in by the cafeteria, so Zayn focused on that conversation instead of the shadow of disappointment that danced over Harry’s face.

Harry was chilly and short with Zayn for the next month.

 

After they got gas, Harry hooked onto the I-5 and they drove down the long stretch of highway past miles and miles of farmland and nothingness. They lost their radio stations pretty early in, so Harry begrudgingly let Louis hook his phone into the car system. Louis played Nickelback for a while, just to rile Harry up, but after that he switched to Maroon 5, OneRepublic, and The Script. Zayn hardly paid any attention to Louis’ soundtrack for this impromptu roadtrip, was too busy getting lost in his memories. 

It wasn’t particularly surprising that they’d ended up here, the three of them. Their dynamic had always been strange and Zayn’s timing had always been shit.

“Hey, can we pull over into the next rest stop?” Louis asked. The car GPS said they were somewhere around Los Banos and they’d be crossing over to 99 soon. “I’ve really gotta piss.”

Harry rolled his eyes but he signaled and got over into the slow lane, exiting the freeway the next opportunity he got.

The rest stop was only that — two restrooms, a water fountain, and a vending machine. Louis leapt out of the car and immediately ran into the bathroom. Zayn grabbed a few dollars out of his wallet and walked over to the vending machine, grabbing another water bottle for Harry and a Coke for himself. Zayn tossed the water to Harry, who mumbled something to himself about the wastefulness of plastic before unscrewing the lid and drinking for several long moments.

“I think we’re about a half hour away from Lottie’s,” Harry said. “Thank God. After we drop him off, we could just find a hotel or something — crash in Fresno for the night.”

Zayn nodded, playing with the cap to his Coke bottle. “I’m sorry about all of this. I — if I had done things differently when we first got together, tonight wouldn’t be so fucking awful.”

Harry’s eyes flashed, almost as though he were just remembering everything all at once. “Yes, you’re right. _God_ , Zayn. How is it that you didn’t tell Louis when we first started dating? Because you told me – ”

“I lied,” Zayn interrupted. “I was going to, I really was, babe, but then – I couldn't. I just couldn't, not like that. Not when he was locked up and had nothing but time to mull over the betrayal. So I never did. I never told him about us. Not when it felt like just fooling around, and not when it became serious, either.”

Harry looked at Zayn. Really looked at him – in that intense, searching way that had always made Zayn feel like a chastised schoolboy. Zayn knew that he frequently drove Harry up the wall with the things he didn't say, with his communication issues or whatever, but he had been working on it. Whatever Harry wanted, Zayn tried — at least once. Here though, Zayn had no real excuse. He hadn’t tried at all. He was just a dick sometimes. 

“So you haven’t told him anything about Vegas then, either. He has no idea.”

Zayn shook his head. “No.”

“And so now we look like assholes,” Harry said slowly. “Two assholes fucking while their friend is biding his time in prison – ”

“ _You're_ not his best friend,” Zayn pointed out. “You're the ex. You're more than allowed to do shitty things behind his back. I'm the best friend, the one who skipped out on visiting hours to fuck around with you. So I'm the only asshole in this scenario, Harry – not you.”

“You skipped out on Louis' visiting hours to fuck me?” Harry squawked, gripping the steering wheel almost frantically when Louis came skipping out out of the bathroom. Actually legitimately fucking skipping. “When? _Zayn_ – ”

“Later,” Zayn hissed, leaning away from Harry to reach for his seatbelt. Louis grabbed the door handle, the lights and bell going off as he slid into the backseat. He absolutely fucking reeked of weed. Zayn wished he could be surprised, but more than anything he wished Louis had shared. Being high would be a huge improvement over his current mood.

Louis smiled slow and dopey, almost as though he were legitimately glad to see Zayn and Harry. Louis patted Harry's headrest, his fingers sliding to finger the long hair at Harry's neck. Zayn wished he could be jealous, but Harry had gone stiff in his seat, didn’t sink into Louis’ fingers the way he used to, the way Zayn always remembered. “So we off then, curls?” 

Harry rolled his eyes and didn't respond. He only shifted his car into reverse and peeled back onto the highway. 

 

The phone call had come at four in the morning. Anyone else probably would’ve been asleep. But as it were, Zayn had always been a bit of an insomniac, and he’d been up doodling in his sketchbook and watching Adult Swim when his phone went off. Zayn set his charcoal down with a sigh before grabbing his iPhone, frowning at Harry’s picture where it flashed across the screen.

Zayn was tempted to ignore it. Things had been weird between Louis and Harry lately and they’d both been individually coming to Zayn with their bullshit relationship troubles. Louis complained that Harry was too young and too needy, and Harry suspected that Louis was skulking around with one of their mutual friends, Briana. Zayn half expected this phone call to be about yet another drunken fight, and Zayn honestly wasn’t feeling masochistic enough to hear Harry complain about Louis’ lack of drive or intimacy or whatever it was that Harry was pissed about tonight.

He still answered the phone, though.

“‘Lo?”

“Zayn?” Harry was yelling. He sounded frantic and there was a fair amount of noise in the background. A loud undercurrent of cursing, mainly. Harry was probably at Niall’s house. “Zayn, Louis’ been arrested!”

“What?”

“Lou’s been arrested!” Harry shrieked. He seemed frazzled, was talking much faster than Zayn ever remembered hearing him. “I don’t — what the fuck do I do? Who do you even call when this happens? Like, we were driving and we got pulled over and apparently there was a fucking warrant out for his arrest — ”

“Harry, hey,” Zayn interrupted. “Babe, slow down. Take a breath and start from the beginning. What happened?”

Harry inhaled, the sound long and ragged. “We were leaving from Niall’s house. Briana was here because she always is these days, so I asked Louis if we could just leave. He got all huffy about it, but we did. We took his car and we were heading back over to the city when we got pulled over on 80. I guess there was a bench warrant for Louis’ arrest because he has a bunch of fucking tickets he hasn’t paid. And he had coke and weed on him, more than anyone would have for their own recreational purposes. The cops aren’t stupid, Zayn. He’s going to be slapped with a sales charge and I’m back at Niall’s house freaking the fuck out — ”

“Have you been able to get a hold of him? Of Louis?”

Harry made a strangled noise. “No and I don’t know what the fuck to do. I don’t know the fucking law beyond a few episodes of _Law and Order_ and I don’t think I would be his one call, either. So I called you. I was kind of hoping you would say he’d already reached out to you.”

“He hasn’t, but I’ll get it sorted,” Zayn promised. “It’s gonna be all right, Haz.”

There was a dull thud, almost like Harry had laid his head against a wall. Knowing him, he probably had. “Thank you,” Harry choked out, his voice low and watery. “I — I don’t fucking know what I’d do without you, Zayn.”

Zayn hung up a few minutes later after reassuring Harry a little bit more. He tried to ignore the warmth spreading through his extremities at Harry’s gushing gratitude and instead squared back his shoulders and began making calls. 

Zayn didn’t give himself the time to process what this all meant — that Louis had finally got busted and was probably facing some serious charges, that Harry hadn’t known what to do and so he’d called Zayn. It wouldn’t be until months later, after Louis’ trial and sentencing, after Louis admitted that he’d been cheating with Briana, and after Harry and Louis — the high school pair voted “Best Couple” — were done, that Zayn would realize just how huge that 4am call was. 

 

Zayn hadn’t been keeping tabs on Lottie, but he did know that she was enrolled at Fresno State and had married some guy she met there. The Tomlinsons were working class, same as Zayn’s family was, so Lottie’s guy must’ve been fairly well off, because the house they pulled in front of was in a nice part of town, right by Woodward Park and conveniently located near a bunch of schools for when Lottie and her dude inevitably started having kids.

“Should we just call her?” Zayn asked, turning around in the backseat in order to get a better look at Louis. It was going on two in the morning and they were all exhausted. Zayn knew he would be pissed if one of his siblings called him at this time to say they were sitting in a car outside and needed somewhere to crash for the night. But Lottie and Louis had a different relationship, one where Lottie had frequently benefited from her brother’s dealing and steady stream of cash. Zayn remembered Louis forking over Benjamin’s so Lottie could get a spray tan, or head to the salon, or pick up a purse at Macy’s. Zayn and Harry had even picked her up from the Amtrak station a few times so they could go see Louis during visiting hours. She probably wouldn’t mind.

“I’m texting her right now,” Louis mumbled.

“Just fucking call her,” Harry interjected. He’d been quiet for the bulk of the car ride, but it wasn’t because he was calm. If anything, he’d been quietly stewing for the past two hours. “If she’s asleep, she’s not going to hear a text message.”

Louis looked up sharply, glaring at Harry. “Oh, sorry. Did I ask you?”

“Louis, just see if she’s awake,” Zayn said. “And, Harry, c’mon. Just — just play nice for a few more minutes, babe.”

Harry turned away, rubbing his temples and stubbornly ignoring Zayn. Louis continued typing rapidly on his phone, his brow furrowed. Zayn popped some gummy bears in his mouth — the green ones since he always left red for last. He tried not to chew too obnoxiously, but with each advancing second Zayn could feel the dread in his stomach grow.

They’d been sitting outside for ten minutes when Zayn cleared his throat and twisted around in his seat. “Lou,” Zayn started. He was trying to keep his voice even and doing a piss poor job at it. “Is Lottie here?”

Louis looked up from his phone, eyes wide and anxious. His hands were trembling. “No.”

Harry cursed, leaning his head on the steering wheel. Thankfully, he avoided the horn.

“How long have you known that she wasn’t here?”

Louis stared at Zayn without answering.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Harry mumbled. “ _Unbelievable_. You made me waste how much fucking gas — ”

Zayn placed his hand on Harry’s thigh, squeezing him reassuringly. “Haz, babe, it’s cool. We’ll work it out.”

“No, bullshit, he _always_ fucking does this,” Harry said. “He’s such an inconsiderate asshole. We should just leave him here and let him figure out how to get inside.”

“Oh yeah, abandon me when I need you the most,” Louis snarled. “Because that’s just what you do, right, Harry?”

“You’re damn right,” Harry retorted. “I actually know when a cause is lost.”

Louis recoiled like he’d been struck. Even Zayn had a hard time believing that Harry had vocalized a sentiment that was so intentionally cruel. It wasn’t his style, really. But Zayn knew that Harry felt a fair amount of resentment toward Louis, and Zayn couldn’t blame him. Their past together was needlessly messy and complicated, and it was also decidedly _over_. There was no real need for them to be so vicious with each other anymore. They had nothing to gain from hurtling insults. Theirs was a relationship they had both destroyed.

“We can’t just leave him out here by himself, Haz,” Zayn said. He tried to keep his voice as soothing as possible. “We promised Niall that we’d look out for him tonight.”

Harry cut the car engine and buried his head in his hands, expelling a long, tangled breath. It took him a few moments, but eventually he nodded, peeking at Zayn through the cracks in his fingers.

“Fine, yeah,” Harry mumbled. “You’re right. But I don’t wanna drive all the way back to San Francisco.”

“We could get a hotel,” Louis supplied. His voice was softer, more hesitant, and he looked small and uncertain where he sat in Harry’s backseat. Zayn didn’t entirely trust it. Sometimes Louis made himself seem tinier just so that it would hurt more the next time he lashed out. “Split the cost three ways.”

“Or we could keep driving,” Zayn suggested. “We’re halfway to LA. We could keep driving and drop Louis off with one of his friends down there.”

Harry tilted his head and peered at Zayn. “You want to bring Louis to the condo?”

Zayn shrugged and forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes. “You’d been saying you wanted to go back to SoCal and my next shift at Target isn’t until Wednesday. Like I said — we’re halfway there. It’ll suck to stay up for another two and a half hours, but it’ll also suck to try and look for somewhere decent to crash right now.”

Harry continued to watch Zayn carefully. Louis coughed in the backseat and Zayn let himself glance at the rearview. Louis was staring outside of the window, arms crossed over his chest. He looked petulant and annoyed, but Zayn had no clue why. 

Harry nodded to himself and turned on the engine. “All right,” Harry murmured. “LA it is.”

 

Zayn wishes he could say that he was high or drunk the first time he fucked Harry. After all, Harry was his best friend’s on-again, off-again boyfriend. Their first time, by definition, should’ve been as sordid and ill-advised as the betrayal they were enacting on Louis. But as it were, it was two days before Christmas and Zayn and Harry were both sober. The only intoxicant driving them both was heartache. They were both far lonelier than they would ever like to admit.

Harry’s parents house had always given Zayn the creeps. It was cavernous and fairly new, a house built following the Loma Prieta earthquake and wildfire that ravaged the hills. Harry always admitted that the house made him feel uneasy, too, said it was part of the reason why he loved hanging over at Louis’ house, which was small, cramped, and full of noise. Harry’s house just felt too big, too impractical, full of guests rooms nobody slept in and furniture nobody used. Harry murmured that he could still remember being broke, the son of a divorcee working two jobs just to make ends meet. It was why Harry liked to nap on friend’s couches, why he could fall asleep in sports bars. It reminded him of being the son of a divorcee, watching cartoons in an apartment on top of a pub.

So it was two days before Christmas and Harry had called Zayn over because his parents were in New Zealand and he was _bored_. Louis had been locked up for a few weeks and Harry and Zayn had already visited him a few times. Zayn hated it and he knew Harry did, too. There was a lot of paperwork and you had to get approved, and then it was a long drive across two bridges just to get there. It was vaguely reassuring that most San Quentin inmates didn’t actually wear orange, but seeing Louis in prison blues wasn’t much of a consolation prize.

Things between Harry and Louis had been bad before Louis started serving time and shit was even worse between the two of them now, and Zayn had just broke up with Perrie, too. Zayn had already decided that there was nothing worse than being newly single for the holidays. The whole season reminded Zayn of Perrie — the mistletoe they had hung up in her apartment last year and made out under, how she tasted of peppermint and vanilla. How Perrie couldn’t bake but tried to make apple pie for him every year. Watching basketball games at her parent’s house, Zayn trying his best to ignore her family’s odd looks. He knew that they were racist, that they got really brave on Facebook and believed the worst of him when cousins claimed they saw him at clubs, wrapped around strange women. For a while, Zayn thought Perrie herself was enough to put up with it. Funny, pretty, charming Perrie. Zayn had since learned that there’s nothing worse than a partner that never speaks up for you.

Harry didn’t have apple pie in his house, but he had mulled wine and a full Christmas spread from some relative who felt bad that his parents weren’t around for the holidays. He and Zayn settled in the den and divided up the food between them, watching _Love Actually_ and eating off old Spongebob plates Harry had dug out from the cupboard. Zayn swirled mashed potatoes around on Squidward’s face while Harry murmured along to the movie. It felt soft, comfortable. Natural, even. They’d never spent the holidays together before, but Zayn felt like they could from now on. It was a bizarre thought.

It wasn’t frantic, that first kiss. It wasn’t desperate or messy or any of those things that it really should’ve been. Zayn would never tell Louis, would never voice the sentiment out loud, but it just felt inevitable. Like it was almost a foregone conclusion that Harry would look over at Zayn while the credits started to roll, put his plate down on the floor, and crawl into Zayn’s lap. Zayn suddenly thought of being seventeen again, of smoking Louis’ blunts behind the bleachers and lounging on damp grass with Harry half sitting on him. He remembered thinking how green Harry’s eyes were, how pink and soft his lips looked.

Harry’s kiss was as soft as Zayn had always imagined. It felt more like a question than any sort of statement, like he was testing the waters. He pulled back, eyes wide and apprehensive, shoulders tense and bracing, almost. But Zayn just carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, worming his way through tangles and running his fingernails against Harry’s scalp. Harry whined, this low secret of a noise, and crawled in closer, straddling Zayn as the movie’s title screen popped up on the television.

“Harry,” Zayn started. “What about — ?”

He didn’t even know how to continue. This felt familiar but it also felt dangerous. Zayn had just seen Louis on Friday and it was Tuesday, now. Zayn had just seen Louis and had shrugged when Louis asked how Harry had been. “He talks about you all the time, you know,” Louis had said with this weird twist to his mouth that Zayn had just attributed to the unfortunate side effects of being in prison. “All he talks about is hanging out with you and that new fucking album he’s obsessed with.” Zayn had smiled, rolled his eyes at Louis’ silliness. And now here he was, Harry warm on his lap. Zayn didn’t even really fucking celebrate Christmas but he was suddenly very grateful for it.

“Just — let me have this,” Harry mumbled. “It’s over and your thing is over, too, right? So just let me have this — ”

And Harry leaned in again. The kiss was closed-mouth at first, soft and hesitant like the first one. But Zayn tightened his fingers in Harry’s hair and Harry bucked his hips forward.

They weren’t wearing much. They lived in fucking California and it hadn’t rained properly in weeks, let alone snowed. Zayn suspected that Harry even had the AC on. That didn’t explain the goosebumps that erupted across Harry’s skin though, the way his breath quickened and his cheeks went rosy. Although Zayn would use it as excuse if he had to, that it was warm and that’s why he helped peel Harry’s shirt off, and then his shorts. Why he let Harry do the same to him, tossing Zayn’s snapback somewhere across the room.

Zayn cupped Harry’s cock through his briefs, felt the thick length of him throb in his hand. Harry bit his bottom lip so hard that Zayn thought he would draw blood. Zayn dimly thought it’d be hot if Harry did, if they somehow forged a fucked up oath here in Harry’s den while _Love Actually’s_ title screen played behind them.

Harry was willing to bottom but Zayn hadn’t been fucked by a guy in actual ages, not since high school when he was briefly messing around with this older dude who worked at the hookah lounge. Harry seemed surprised that Zayn was even into it, tripping all over himself to find condoms and lube. He was gone for a while, so Zayn chose to amuse himself by slicking his fingers up with spit and twisting them into himself, feeling his body go taut and then lax with pleasure.

Harry’s dick felt loads better than Zayn’s fingers, though. Zayn had a bit of a size thing and Harry was huge, thick and uncut and porn long. And where Harry was uncoordinated and gangly wherever he and Zayn went, Harry was nothing but good in bed. He fucked with the same focused intensity he did everything else. Zayn couldn’t get enough. He scratched down Harry’s thighs, over ink he had etched into Harry’s skin countless nights ago where they were all too blazed to go to a proper tattoo artist. 

Zayn knew even then that they had long crossed a line. Sex wasn’t the culmination, really. People who were just friends — they didn’t do the sorts of things he and Harry did. They didn’t watch each other so closely, they didn’t mark promises into flesh and listen so patiently whenever they bitched about their significant other. 

They’d both been waiting for this moment. 

Zayn tiptoed his fingers across Harry’s skin and dug his fingernails into the meat of Harry’s ass. He pulled his cheeks apart, like a tease, like a promise and foreshadowing, and Harry came, burying his face in Zayn’s neck and biting the skin there.

They fucked a few more times that night. Zayn kept forgetting to ask about when Harry and Louis’ relationship ended. When it had fallen apart between last Friday’s visiting hours and two days before Christmas now. It hardly mattered, really.

 

Zayn always felt a little bit like he was getting away with something every time he went over to Harry's condo. Like his mere presence in this clean, luxury space meant he was getting something over on somebody. Playing a long con. Maybe it was because Harry's old, Republican neighbor always sneered a bit when she saw Zayn stumble out every morning in his secondhand UCLA sweatshirt, love bites on his neck and a worn backpack slung over his shoulder.

Zayn and Harry's relationship often seemed like an affront to the people Harry had surrounded himself with here in LA. Harry frequently didn’t notice the way people regarded their clutched hands and closed mouth kisses, but Zayn always did. Then again, Zayn always felt like it was them against the world. It was self-preservation, maybe. A desire to put up guards and close ranks as preventative measures against the same old questions disguised as traps — “How did you meet? Oh really, you’re dating someone like _him_? Where do you twoeven see this thing going?”

Sometimes, early on when Zayn and Harry had just started fucking regularly, Zayn would smile, nudge the head of his cock up against Harry's prostate, and think, “ _There_.”There, having his way with a white boy with good manners, better credit, and a mouth made for sucking Zayn's dick. There, wrecking Harry fucking Styles, the type of guy that was never supposed to pick _Zayn_ , never supposed to lust for Muslim community college boys, no matter how driven they were. “ _There_ ,” Zayn would think as he came. It wasn’t romantic, wasn’t the type of thing you ever said out loud, but the words still floated to the forefront of his mind anyway. “ _I made it_.”

Now, though, Zayn wasn't thinking much of anything. He just kept his eyes on Louis as he made himself comfortable on Harry's couch. The same one Zayn had helped Harry move into the condo, their bodies slick with sweat and aching from exertion. It was in the weeks between Louis’ initial arrest and his final sentencing when Harry said he needed a change, needed a fresh start in gorgeous Southern California. And Zayn was a good friend and wanted the opportunity to check out UCLA anyway, was considering transferring there, so he sat in the passenger’s seat of the U-haul, helped with the move-in, and tried to push down the surging roar of attraction he felt whenever Harry grinned at him and wiped sweaty strands of hair from out of his eyes. So maybe Zayn was less of a good friend and more of a good boyfriend stand-in, the guy waiting in the wings to see what scraps he could get from someone he had no business lusting over. Maybe that's what Zayn had been doing, until HarryandLouis ceased to exist and it was just Harry, all alone in a giant house a few days before Christmas, no boyfriend there to keep him warm at night.

Zayn always hated himself a little bit whenever he thought about it. How he had taken advantage of a truly shitty situation and stumbled into bed with his best friend’s boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend? Zayn had never been entirely clear on that timeline, had never found the courage to ask, and he also had the sneaking suspicion that Harry’s murmured “Oh, Lou and I broke up a while ago” as he ran his hands over Zayn’s cock for the third time that night was more aspirational than fact.

Harry had walked straight through to his bedroom and slammed the door, leaving Zayn and Louis alone in the front room. Zayn sighed to himself and made his way to the kitchen, rummaging through Harry’s cupboards until he was able to find a bag of kale chips and mineral water. It wasn’t comforting junk food, but it would have to do considering whose condo they were in.

“Found us something,” Zayn murmured, walking back through to the living room and tossing the bag of kale chips. Louis caught the bag and read the label with a disdainful sneer.

“What the fuck is this?” Louis swore. “They make kale in chip form? The fuck even _is_ kale?”

Zayn set the bottle of mineral water on the table before returning to the kitchen to pull down some glasses. “You know how Haz is. That’s the closest I could find to real snacks in here.”

Louis waited until Zayn returned before responding. “I don’t know this Harry, actually. The Harry I was dating liked milkshakes and In-N-Out and going to the bakery first thing in the morning so he could get the gooiest cookies. This guy — he hardly resembles the boy I thought I was in love with.”

Zayn blinked. Zayn remembered late night In-N-Out runs with Louis and Harry the summer after high school, how Harry would ask for a chocolate milkshake and devour an order of animal fries while they sat in the parking lot, radio turned up and the windows down. But Harry had been playing sports then, and as soon as he graduated and was no longer obligated to work out three or four times a week he turned into a different kind of health nut. Zayn was sure he hadn’t seen Harry eat processed sugar in at least three years. And Harry’s come was as close to delicious as it got, so who was Zayn to complain?

Zayn felt like he knew Harry like the back of his hand, but he hadn’t always. There were plenty of details he was sure he’d missed out on, things that Louis probably still knew better than he did. But Louis and Harry were done, and when Zayn really thought about it, he realized that their demise had nothing to do with him. Not in any way that mattered.

“Did you ever miss him?” Zayn asked. He didn’t mean the question to be malicious. He was legitimately curious. But Louis’ eyes narrowed and he sat up straighter along the couch. That was just how Louis was, the Rottweiler at the dog park always prepared for a fight. He always felt like he had something to prove. Even with Zayn.

“No,” Louis answered. Defiantly, as though Zayn was going to argue with him. “All right?”

“Yeah, Lou. Shit,” Zayn mumbled. He could really do with a blunt or a drink. Harry was unlikely to have either. Weed made him think of Louis and jail, and alcohol made him think of Louis and unplanned pregnancies. Zayn and Harry had taken coke together once or twice since they’d both started going to school here in LA but Zayn always got paranoid they were going to die so they’d stopped. “I was just wondering? Like, he was an important part of your life.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Was, yeah. All three of us. The Three fucking Musketeers. He said he would still write and call even though we were over. And yet he still managed to drop me entirely.”

“Well, you did cheat on him, Lou,” Zayn pointed out. “Cheated and like, had a baby. And went to jail. S’kind of a lot.”

Louis scoffed. It was a coarse, bitter sound, and so loud that Zayn was surprised Harry didn’t come lumbering through the door, chiding them for being boisterous and inconsiderate. “He cheated, too!”’

“What?” Zayn sputtered. Harry came to Zayn with everything when he and Louis were together. Literally everything, no matter how over the top or unsavory. If Harry had stepped out, Zayn would’ve known about it. Harry couldn’t keep a secret, not even one that involved Zayn’s best friend. Hell, Zayn had found out about Briana’s pregnancy from Harry, not Louis. “When?”

“Well.” And just as quickly, Louis was bashful, turning away from Zayn’s gaze. “Emotionally. He was emotionally cheating. He checked out long before I went into San Quentin. And he always had a thing for you — I knew it, he knew I knew it, and he never bothered hiding it or trying to get over it. It was only an inkling when we were younger and he would insist that it was cool if I invited you along to third wheel, but I hoped it would go away. And then, later, my suspicions grew into full-fledged awareness, because during visiting hours all he could ever talk about was _you_. How grateful he was to have you around, how close the two of you had gotten since I started doing time.” 

Louis was running his fingers together, the pointer and middle fingers. Zayn felt hypnotized watching it. Slide, a catch on the fingertips, and then he pushed the fingers apart. Slide, catch, push.

“Our last fight was ruthless. He’d told me earlier that we could make it work — that he’d forgiven me for stepping out with Briana and that he was even a little excited at the prospect of being a stepdad. But then I dunno what happened. He came back during visiting hours and he just seemed _done_. He was very cold. I started badgering him, tried to get a reaction, and then he blurted out that you and Pez were over. He said he had a chance with you now. He’d always wanted you and now he’d have you.” Louis laughed, cuffing the back of his head and letting the mirth pour out of his body, harsh like cheap whiskey. “And I didn’t even fucking know — I thought it was just the sort of fucked up, blustering thing you say when a relationship is over. When you’re just looking for a way to end things and hurt someone. But he was right, wasn’t he? You two had probably already been sleeping with each other for a while.”

Zayn gaped at Louis, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. Harry had never mentioned this. Harry had just said that he and Louis were done. Zayn hadn’t asked for elaboration or additional details because Harry seemed like he was hurting. Maybe Zayn should’ve. Maybe he should’ve pressed Harry more. 

Or maybe Louis was lying. Maybe Louis was trying to shove a wedge between Harry and Zayn, the two boys who were supposed to be weak without Louis at their sides, the two boys who weren’t supposed to grow stronger, shine brighter. Maybe Louis was being a little meddling shit incapable of knowing when to fucking stop, just like always.

“When was this?”

Louis shrugged his shoulders. “Why does it fucking matter? You immediately started dating him, right? Eighteen months — that’s what you told that asshole Max. I was only locked up for nineteen and some change, Zayn. Do you think I don’t fucking know math?”

“I swear, Lou, the first time we hooked up he told me you two were already over.”

“ _Jesus_ , Zayn, I already knew he was a fucking liar and that he wanted you — that’s not the issue. The issue is that you didn’t come talk to me about it. Why didn't you tell me that you were sleeping with him?” Louis asked fiercely, his blue eyes cutting when he finally turned them onto Zayn. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have cared — not really. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, even if it’s with a fucking loser like Harry. But how could you say you're my best friend and not tell me something huge like that?”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “You mean like how you didn't tell me about what you were doing with Briana? Or how you haven’t told me that you’re dealing again?”

Louis laughed. It was loud, empty, and hollow, more of a bark than anything. He leaned back against the couch, bringing dirty sneakers to smear muddy brown against Harry's pristine cushions. “Yeah, Zayn. _Just like that_.”

“Because it would've just pissed you off if you'd known,” Zayn sneered. “It didn't mean anything at the time anyway – I didn't think it did. I assumed we were both rebounding or whatever, coping with everything, and I recognized how shit it was that I was even attracted to Harry in the first place. So yeah, maybe it was the same reason why you didn't tell me you were back to the same shit.”

“I'm not back to the same shit – ”

“Two years, Lou!” Zayn interrupted. “You were gone for two fucking years and yes, you are back to doing the _exact same shit_.” Zayn ran his hands over his face, the ragged edge of his pointer fingernail catching on his beard. “You can't – you weren't _here_ , Louis. You were sittingup in San Quentin, playing fucking baseball games with felons. You weren't the one trying to learn how to cope every day, after. Filling out forms for the CDCR. Driving back and forth to fucking Marin for visiting hours, knowing that you didn't even realize what you'd done wrong in the first place. You treated your time like it was a fucking vacation. You let yourself get caught up in bullshit before and it's happening again, so you really don't have the luxury of being mad at me right now.”

Louis scoffed. “I don't have the luxury? I don't get to care that while I was serving time you were fucking playing house in LA with Harry?”

Zayn slapped his hand down against the table and Louis jumped a little, clearly more wired than he was letting on. Zayn felt something akin to pity creep through his veins. Max and that whole crew were known more for white and dope than weed. Maybe Louis was onto different drugs now. “Yeah, Lou. You really don't have the luxury because you put yourself in this position.”

“Just because I put on a brave fucking face for an hour of visiting time didn't mean that San Quentin wasn't shit,” Louis spat. “Of course it was shit. It was _prison_ , bro. Having you and Harry come through – shit made my fucking week. And it sucked when things fell apart with Haz and I, and I know you and I were going through our shit, too. I know you were pissed at me for ending up there and you had every right to be, but you should've told me about you and Harry. Even though it would've hurt, even though it would’ve been uncomfortable, you should've told me. Hell, it couldn’t have been worse than the way I really found out, right? Hearing whispers from friends and family and then a confirmation coming out of fucking _Max’s_ mouth?”

Zayn sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on them. “Of course I should’ve told you about Harry and I,” Zayn mumbled. “I already apologized to Harry about it. He wanted me to tell you as soon as we got together.”

“But you didn’t.”

Zayn sighed. “But I didn’t.”

Louis fell silent. He petulantly picked up Harry’s bag of chips, popping the bits of kale into his mouth and making a face after every bite. “It is kind of reassuring that you didn't do something just because Harry told you to,” Louis said, voice soft and dreamy.

Zayn laughed. “Well, I am still the same person. I did something stupid and fucked up by not telling you what was happening, but that doesn’t change who I am. I — you’re still my best friend, Lou.”

Louis tossed Harry’s kale chips onto the coffee table in front of them. The bag skittered onto the floor, bits of green wedging themselves into the carpet. Zayn hardly noticed though, because Louis had scooted down the length of the couch, ran his finger over Zayn’s ear, and kissed him.

There was one brief moment where Zayn flashed back to being sixteen, doing his homework during soccer practice while Louis did laps around the field. Zayn’s heartbeat would race as he took in Louis’ lean legs, his sweat-drenched back. His thick ass. Zayn used to think he couldn’t ever want anyone as much as he wanted Louis.

But then Zayn remembered how Harry would come jog up next to Louis, a wicked smile firmly affixed to his face. And then the memory went murky. So Zayn pulled away.

“I can’t,” Zayn gasped. “Louis, I can’t. I can’t do that to Harry.”

A shadow passed over Louis’ face, an expression that Zayn couldn’t even begin to decipher. It just felt too loaded. But Louis licked over his teeth and nodded, his fringe falling into his eyes.

There was a beat of silence and then another. Zayn was on the verge of standing and making his way into the kitchen just for something to do when Louis caught his wrist, his blue eyes fierce and searching.

“You love him.”

Once more, it wasn’t a question. But Zayn still opened his mouth, forced himself to meet Louis’ eyes. It hurt to look at his best friend like this, to look into his eyes and realize he was the source of the confusion and distress there. Zayn had never wanted this. 

Except for how he had. How he used to look at Harry, long, lingering and considering. How he used to wonder about the curve of Harry’s mouth and the curl of his fingers. Harry and Zayn, the two of them — it felt inevitable, like they’d been hurtling toward a relationship for years. Zayn wished it could’ve played out differently, but it didn’t change the very real feelings he harbored for him.

“I do, yeah,” Zayn mumbled. “Like — like a lot.”

“But you didn’t?” Louis pressed. “The first time, or whenever the two of you started doing this? You didn’t expect for it to be serious?”

“No.” Expectation and hope were two completely different things.

Louis huffed and leaned back against Harry’s couch. “I dunno if that makes things better or worse.” Louis groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and squeezing up his face. “How long had you liked him?”

Zayn licked his lip and lifted a shoulder. “Sure you want an answer to that question?”

Louis nodded, his own shoulders set back. Like he was goading Zayn on. And then he waited for a response.

“Since high school. Senior year, like.”

“But you liked me too?”

Zayn tilted his head. Louis had never acknowledged Zayn’s crush out loud. At the time, Zayn wasn’t sure if it was out of diplomacy or obliviousness. He’d always assumed the latter. Louis had always exhibited very little need for tact.

“You knew?”

Louis frowned. “No. People told me their suspicions but — but I thought you were straight and they were just projecting shit onto you. Shit, you were with Perrie. What else was I supposed to think?” Louis licked over his lips. His shoulders were still thrown back. He still looked confrontational, like he was geared up for a fight. “But you did? You liked both of us at the same time?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not go after both of us, then? Why not try a three-way, or like a poly-what’s-it relationship?”

“Polyamorous? And in high school?” Zayn scoffed, scratching his beard. “Things don’t work like that, Lou.”

“Why not?” Louis demanded. “Loads of people do that whole poly thing. I would’ve said yes. Harry — we both know he would’ve said yes, too.”

“That’s not what I wanted though,” Zayn answered. “And it’s not what I want now, either.”

It was true. Zayn had thought about it loads of times. What it would be like to have both. His starry-eyed best friend who unintentionally broke his heart and the twenty-something temptation he fell into bed with. It was a nice image, thinking of what the three of them would look like in bed together, but Zayn wanted more than masturbation fodder. The three of them didn’t even end up making it as friends. How could Louis think that they would’ve made it work as lovers? It would’ve been a doomed and pointless endeavor. 

“Harry’s got a nice ring on one of his fingers,” Louis remarked lightly. Or as lightly as he could, considering the situation, considering the tight grip he still had around Zayn’s wrist. “Did you give that to him?”

“Yeah.”

Louis nodded, a strained smile making itself at home on his face. “And this ring here — ” Louis tapped the metal band on Zayn’s left ring finger. “Did he give this to you?”

Zayn looked down on the ring that he’d been wearing for the last month. Zayn often forgot it was there, now. It was just a part of him, like his beard and the words Harry had inked into his skin with his cousin’s tattoo gun. Zayn hadn’t anticipated it, that Harry would propose to him, but that didn’t mean he had any hesitation in saying yes. Like everything else, it just felt right, the best kind of foregone conclusion. But it did make Zayn marvel over how much had changed in such a short span of time. Because when Zayn was sixteen, he had once entertained dreams of looking into Louis’ eyes, wrapping his arms around Louis’ neck, and kissing him. When Zayn was sixteen, he wouldn’t have pushed Louis away if he’d leaned in for a kiss. Hell, when Zayn was sixteen, he had sighed to himself while he sat on the bleachers, hoping one day he’d end up being the cliche that married his best friend. 

But thank fucking God Zayn wasn’t sixteen anymore. So he nodded, twirling the engagement ring around on his finger. “Yeah.”

Louis ducked his gaze and pursed his lips. He looked almost on the verge of tears. But his “Congratulations” still sounded genuine when he choked the word out.

 

Harry was the one who ended up waking them up. Zayn didn’t even remember falling asleep, but Louis’ head was pillowed on Zayn’s chest and he was snoring softly. He looked young and boyish like this, like the Peter Pan Zayn had always imagined him to be. _Zap_ , he thought. It was a game they had invented when they were younger. When they were boys and thought they could grow up to be superheroes, to be Batman and Robin, J.D. and Turk, Shawn and Cory. _We can stay like this forever_. 

If Harry was surprised to see them in this position he didn’t say anything about it, just tossed his hair out of his eyes and thrusted his phone in Zayn’s face.

“Wake him up,” Harry said. “Oli said he’s going to come pick him up and take him to San Fernando.”

“You have Oli’s phone number?” Zayn asked groggily. Harry shrugged and went back to his room. He didn’t slam the door, but Zayn almost would’ve preferred it.

 

“I — I kissed Louis.”

It’d only been a few minutes since Oli had come over to pick Louis up. They were apparently going back to Oli’s house, and then in a few days they would head over to Las Vegas to crash with Briana. It was for the best. Louis hadn’t seen the baby since he’d gotten out and Louis had already spent a good chunk of the little girl’s life behind bars. It was about time he got his shit together. 

Zayn wondered if Louis would end up living out there, in Nevada with Briana and his daughter. If he’d end up trying to play house. Or if Zayn would end up running into him at another one of Niall’s house parties, a beanie jammed on his head and a blunt tucked behind his ear. Both scenarios seemed highly likely.

Louis had hugged Zayn long and tight before he left, the curve and press of his body one of the most familiar things Zayn had ever felt. They made promises to talk more, to keep in touch. Zayn meant his words, fingers already itching to resume the sort of stupid, inane text conversations they used to have every day. He hoped that Louis felt the same.

Harry had nodded shortly. Louis’ lips twisted and he nodded back, hunching his shoulders and leaving with Oli’s hand on his lower back.

Harry locked the door behind them, set the alarm, and then started puttering around the kitchen. Zayn watched him for a few moments, but it was like Zayn couldn’t keep the words in. He spoke entirely without thinking.

Harry blinked, long and steady, but his facial expression did not change at all. He was carefully, eerily hard to read, and Zayn felt the first edges of fear tremble down his spine. Dread, panic. Mild horror. “You kissed Louis?”

“I — yes.”

Harry hummed underneath his breath, shouldering past Zayn and pulling down a box of tea. He winced slightly when he saw that it was Yorkshire, but stubbornly continued, turning on the electric kettle and fussing around for a mug.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Zayn continued even though it was a lie. Zayn had no clue what Louis had meant by crowding into Zayn’s space and curling his tongue inside of his mouth. “It was more of a ‘goodbye’ kiss than anything.”

Harry didn’t reply. He fished a tea bag out of the box and tossed it into the mug, drumming his fingers on the counter. He still didn’t _look_ upset, but Harry rarely did, even when Zayn had done something that truly irritated him or hurt his feelings. It had always been strange. Harry was so expressive when it came to everything else, but when someone had disappointed or angered him, he had a habit of shutting down entirely, retreating behind a facade of joviality and charm. Zayn supposed it was mildly better than the alternative, the rare instances where Harry became angry enough to yell and throw things across the condo.

“Harry,” Zayn tried again. “Harry, babe. Please talk to me.”

Harry’s eyes darted to consider Zayn. Zayn wondered if Harry had gotten any sleep. He looked tired after the long night, dark smudges under his eyes, with his hair falling into his face, oily and lank. But even still, he was the most beautiful boy Zayn had ever seen. This night with Louis — one where they had drudged up every uncomfortable, unsavory memory, every recollection that they had attempted to bury deep in the well — Zayn didn’t know what to make of it yet. But Zayn wanted it to be a day that made him and Harry stronger, closer.

Harry snorted, shaking his head as his curls tousled back and forth. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you and Louis have been hurtling toward all along.”

“What?”

“You and him!” Harry exclaimed. “You’ve been in love with him since high school! And I’m so glad you’ve been able to get all of your fucking feelings for him off your chest — that you’re able to have this big emotional cleansing moment. But you really have to think about what all of this shit means to me. What it means _for us_.”

Zayn shook his head, feeling an anxious sweat bead across his forehead. “That’s not true, Harry. You know it’s not. And you’re one to talk — you dated him, too!”

“Yeah, I dated him to get close to you,” Harry snarled. “I was fucking fifteen, Zayn, and you wouldn’t give me the time of day. What was I supposed to do? A nice, pretty boy who happened to be my crush’s best friend was paying me some attention, saying all of the right things, and it didn’t feel like harps and butterflies, but whatever, I went for it. Fat load of good it did me, though, since he decided to cheat on me, get some random girl knocked up, exhibit little ambition in life besides smoking weed and fucking, and then finally end up in prison! But _you_. You’ve been in love with him since day one and here’s your moment to finally get what you wanted, now that he’s returned from the glory of San Quentin — ”

Zayn waved his hands in the air, interrupting Harry. “No, that’s not fair! You don’t get to just hurl out whatever accusation you want. I don’t want Louis and I’m not in love with Louis. Certainly not like that. He’s my _friend_ , Harry. He’s always just been my friend.”

“A friend that you made out with.”

“I didn’t make out with him — ”

“You must think I’m a fucking moron,” Harry hissed. “He fell asleep on you, and yet I’m just the dumbest, most clueless person you’ve ever met and you can say whatever the fuck you want to me.”

“Did I say that?” Zayn demanded. “Did I ever say any of that?”

Harry’s eyes flashed and he opened his mouth, clearly poised to fire off a retort, but the electric kettle dinged, the tinny echo of it dinging throughout the condo. Harry turned away from Zayn and lifted the kettle from its holder, pouring hot water into his mug. His knuckles were a strained white, same as they had been all night, gripped on his steering wheel.

Zayn slumped against the kitchen counter. He felt as though all of the fight seeped out of him at once. When Zayn woke up Friday morning, it wasn’t with the expectation that he and Harry would be at each other’s throats, stood in Harry’s condo and giving voice to their deepest insecurities. But here they were. Zayn was so _tired_. It had been such a long fucking night and Zayn just wanted to curl up in bed with his Harry — with his fiancé. He wanted to wrap his arms around the boy he loved and cherished and cared about. He wanted to breathe in Harry’s familiar smell, his cologne and the fruity bite of his hair product. This was the boy who helped repair his broken heart after his girlfriend left him and his best friend went to prison, the boy he’d wanted even when he had no business doing so.

Zayn didn’t want Louis anymore. He knew that and had for a while. It didn’t make his previous feelings for Louis any less real, and it didn’t invalidate the very real betrayal and hurt Harry was feeling. But Zayn didn’t see a romantic future with Louis, not at all. Zayn couldn’t trust that Louis would be there for him when he needed it the most, but Harry had been. Harry would be.

Harry poured milk and a spoonful of organic cane sugar into his mug before clutching the cup between his fingers like a lifeline. He was putting on his brave face, eyes dark and defiant, but Zayn knew him, knew that Harry was really hurting.

Zayn wondered whether this was Louis’ intention all along. If this was what Louis had wanted to happen when he kissed Zayn. Louis had always had an Old Testament view of the world — tit for tat, eye for an eye — and it didn’t seem like much of a stretch to think that maybe Louis had kissed Zayn because he knew it would hurt Harry. Not because it had any kind of meaning, and certainly not because Louis felt any degree of legitimate attraction to Zayn. Louis used people. It was fine — Zayn knew that about him, and Zayn knew that he used people sometimes, too. They had been good friends for years for a reason.

“I love you,” Zayn murmured. Harry looked up, but his face was guardedly blank. “I love you and I don’t have any plans of running away with Louis or — or whatever it is you’re thinking. Yes, you’re right that I had feelings for him in high school. But that was then, Haz. That was when I was sixteen and didn’t yet know that the little annoying sophomore on the soccer team could ever be so important to me.”

Harry barked out a laugh, smirking small and private, but it wasn’t enough. Zayn knew it wasn’t.

“Look, babe. I shouldn’t have done it — I shouldn’t have let him kiss me, and I certainly shouldn’t have kissed back. I hurt you and I never wanted to do that. But I want _you_. Even when I couldn’t see you beyond being Louis’ friend, the annoying sophomore, I still felt a connection to you. You’ve got to see that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have thrown everything with him away just to be with you.”

Harry shook his head. “I never asked you to do that. I know how important his friendship is to you — ”

“We’ll always be friends,” Zayn interrupted. “Louis and I will always find our way back to each other when we need each other the most. But you and I — we’re forever, too, Haz. In the most amazing, beautiful way.”

Harry bit his lip and looked out across the island counter. There were kale chips still scattered over the carpet and Zayn could make out the mark from Louis’ shoes on the couch. But the morning summer sun was starting to tiptoe through the blinds and Harry’s air conditioner was a familiar whir reverberating through the condo. 

“We _are_ forever, I do recognize that. And — and I know that you aren’t really in love with him still. If you were, you would’ve got with him the minute he and I were done,” Harry said. He set his mug down on the counter and made his way out to Zayn, arm outstretched. When he smiled, it was hesitant, shy. “Two months.”

“Two months,” Zayn repeated. The ring he’d given Harry felt warm when he slid his thumb over it. “Love you.”

Harry leaned in and kissed Zayn. The give of Harry’s lips felt like forgiveness and opportunity. The curl of his tongue felt like parties with friends new and old, like fireworks and Fourth of July in the Valley. And when Harry and Zayn stumbled into bed together, it felt like the end of the night and also the beginning of a new life together. One stripped clean and laid bare, all skeletons brought out of the closet and stacked in the stark light of day, right in the middle of the living room. 

And maybe they hadn’t worked everything out. Maybe there were still questions to be answered, and maybe the weird triangle between Harry, Louis, and Zayn would never entirely work itself out. But Zayn couldn’t help but think that they still had plenty of time. They still had innumerable Saturdays left to muddle their way through. 

 

It was the July 3rd before senior year and Harry picked Zayn up outside of Target after his shift. Together they went to grab Louis, who was similarly finishing up at McDonald’s. He was quitting, though. Had put in his two weeks notice and everything. “There’s no need to spend the rest of my life there when my money’s so good now,” Louis had said a few weekends before, grinning wolfishly at Zayn. Zayn hadn’t replied, had bit his tongue and swallowed down his protests and insistences that Louis quit dealing. He didn’t feel like it was his place, not when Zayn was the type of person who kept drug dealers in business. But still. Louis wasn’t the type to just stick to weed and they all knew it. The thought always made a heavy feeling claw its way into Zayn’s gut.

It’d become somewhat of a summer tradition, driving to In-N-Out and eating their meal in the parking lot. There wasn’t much else for them to do after Zayn and Louis both got off work so late. It was either that or do one of their little night drives into the Valley, rolling down the windows as dry heat seeped into the car, blaring music from an iPod.

Zayn was in the backseat of Harry’s car, wolfing down an order of animal fries while Katy Perry bellowed out her latest single on the radio. It had been another excruciatingly long day at work and Zayn felt bone tired, was on the verge of asking Harry if he could drop him off home early when an illegal fireworks display started off to their left. A series of blues, reds, and greens cascading over the night and falling back down onto the city below. The noise almost entirely drowned out the radio, made something still and almost sacred descend upon the three boys where they had been eating quietly in the car.

“Guess we don’t have to play ‘Gunshots or fireworks,’” Louis finally remarked.

“S’pose not,” Harry replied. He looked over at Louis and shared a smile, one of those small, secretive ones that always made Zayn feel like an outsider, like a voyeur. Zayn cleared his throat and kept shoveling animal fries into his mouth. He wasn’t even hungry anymore but he figured eating would keep him from falling asleep. The last time he’d accidentally passed out in the backseat, he’d woken up at the top of Twin Peaks, Harry stretched over the console and Louis’ cock in his mouth. Zayn couldn’t find it in himself to let them know he was awake, so he’d just squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself back into a restless, dreamless sleep.

“Do you think we’ll still be doing this next year?” Louis asked suddenly. The fireworks were casting an eerie glow on his skin. Zayn wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He probably did. He liked most things about Louis, even when his friend got randomly maudlin or introspective. Louis was a bit of a sap even though he liked to pretend he was tough. “Like — after graduation and all?”

“Course we will,” Zayn said. In the moment, it was unfathomable that they wouldn’t. Hell, this was just what they did. They worked stupid jobs. They spent their spare cash on weed and burgers. They put miles on Harry’s car the night before the Fourth of July. They didn’t give voice to the surging, knotty ties that drew the three of them together. 

Zayn couldn’t even begin to realize it then, but he was so young. Such a stupid seventeen-year-old. “Best friends forever, right?”

“Forever and ever,” Harry swore, turning around and thrusting his pinkie out for Zayn to take. Zayn laughed but looped his finger around Harry’s and then held his out to Louis. Louis seemed to hesitate for a moment, his face going blank and pinched, but then he grinned and closed the loop, linking one finger with Harry’s and taking Zayn’s, too.

So they linked their fingers together in a ridiculous pinky promise, with red cheeks and strawberry milkshake lips. It was strangely earnest even though it didn’t need to be, three teenage boys holding hands while Katy Perry wailed over the radio.

The song ended and the impromptu fireworks display drifted to a close, leaving the In-N-Out parking lot suddenly dark and dreary. Louis let go of the other boys’ hands and returned to his hamburger, humming contentedly underneath his breath. Louis started randomly chatting about dealing, hanging out with Max and that whole crew, and how he was going to pick up a new Coach bag for Lottie once the money really started pouring in. It was completely useless banter. Zayn followed Louis’ lead and jumped into the conversation, but not without first exchanging a confused look with Harry. 

It had all seemed so important then. The pull to Louis’ lips, the urgency with which he asked Zayn and Harry if this strange little tradition would remain their present and future. Zayn remembered texting Harry about it the next day, asking, “Do you think Lou was all right in the car?” And Harry would reply with consoling words and X’s and O’s, same as he always did, but maybe the first crack in their shared friendship actually appeared that very night. That night when Louis gave voice to his fears and made the demons known underneath the fireworks.

But the three of them would entirely forget about that night later, though.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reach out on [Tumblr](http://catholicschoolgirl.tumblr.com/), if you'd like.


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